


Cake

by neveralarch



Series: Best_enemies comment fic [17]
Category: Doctor Who (1963)
Genre: Comment Fic, Community: best_enemies, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-18
Updated: 2010-09-18
Packaged: 2017-10-23 20:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short fic about cake, written for Peter Davison's birthday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake

The Baker had a giant moustache which he kept twirling at odd moments. He also had a giant cake, which the Doctor was a little more concerned with at the moment.

"Are you sure this is free?" he asked.

"Of course!" said the baker in an ebullient, nebulously foreign tone. "It is my cake- I may give it to whomever I wish! And of course, it is yours."

"Well, thank you," said the Doctor, not making any move to take the cake. It was chocolate, and, he decided, probably hiding something. Chocolate usually was.

"Yes, yes," said the baker. "Now you will try some, no?"

The Doctor looked around hastily for Tegan or Turlough. He didn't want to be the first one to try this man's cake. Why couldn't they ever stay with him and not wander off? Especially when he needed a food-taster.

The baker was waving a slice of cake violently at him. The Doctor took it, reluctantly, and tried a few crumbs under the baker's approving eye.

"Good?"

"Yes," said the Doctor, a little surprised. "And not poisoned at all." He ate a bit more.

"Why would it be poisoned?" The baker feigned astonishment but, tellingly, no indignation.

"You did throw me off that radio tower," said the Doctor, his mouth now full of chocolate and frosting.

"I have no idea of what you are speaking," said the baker, his accent getting slightly more impenetrable and Gallic.

The Doctor sighed.

"It's the French accent that gives you away," he said. "I wish you'd never gone to France, you can't seem to resist the 'language of love.' Which, I might add, is vastly overrated."

The Master looked a little put out, though it was hard to tell under the thick silicone mask he was wearing.

The Doctor took another slice of cake. It was a good birthday, he decided, even if his favorite nemesis was the only one who had remembered.

“Maybe next year you can throw me a party while disguised as a Romani fortune teller,” he said. The Master just glared.


End file.
